Magnificent Desolation (33 page)

E
ARLY IN
1998, the news was released that Senator John Glenn would be returning to space as a passenger aboard the space shuttle. I thought that was fantastic. John was a wonderful candidate for “civilian space travel” since he had such high visibility and he was still in great physical shape. Of course, it was not lost on the public that John was also the first American astronaut to have orbited the Earth. John flew on the
Friendship 7
Mercury capsule on February 20, 1962. The mission lasted a mere five hours, and Glenn was strapped to his seat the entire time, never experiencing weightlessness. For him to get a second chance to orbit the Earth at seventy-seven years of age was a great coup for civilian space travel.

On October 29, 1998, Lois and I traveled to Titusville, Florida, to attend the launch of the space shuttle
Discovery
on which John Glenn was a nonpaying passenger. A crowd of more than 200,000 people— more than usual, these days—had gathered to view the spacecraft attached to the giant rocket booster rumble off the launch pad. It felt almost like a party atmosphere as Lois and I watched along with other celebrity onlookers, including President Bill Clinton and the First Lady; a number of U.S. senators; baseball Hall of Famer Ted Williams; Hollywood entertainers Tom Hanks, Bruce Willis, and Ron Howard; and musician Jimmy Buffett. With a deep roar that practically shook
the ground three miles away, and a billowing cloud of fire and smoke,
Discovery
slowly inched off the ground, headed into the perfectly clear blue sky.

The press was quick to point out that John’s journey was the most elaborate and expensive political junket ever. The mission lasted for nine days, during which time he participated in some experiments designed to ascertain the affects of spaceflight on the elderly, particularly in the areas of equilibrium, muscle loss, and sleep disturbances. John later quipped that he’d wanted to do a spacewalk, but NASA had feared that at his age he might wander off.

While John was still in orbit and the nation followed his progress, I received an invitation to appear on the CBS television program
The Late Show with David Letterman.
I’ve always enjoyed David’s quirky sort of humor—it reminds me of my own—so I said, “Sure, I’ll be glad to come on.”

It was great fun, and David and I spoke at length about space tourism, and how it is technically feasible and is likely to become a highly profitable business. We talked about some of the new developments under way, and I even told David about my own projects, ShareSpace and my new rocket development company’s StarBooster rockets. It was a great opportunity to pitch the idea of space tourism to a younger audience that would be the primary clientele for future adventures.

David was quite interested in the feasibility of space tourism. “How much will one of those seats cost?” he asked.

“Initially about eighty to one hundred thousand dollars,” I replied, eliciting chuckles from the audience.

“Oooh,” David responded. “But you get complimentary cocktails once you get on board, don’t you?”

That led into a perfect opportunity to tell David and the audience about ShareSpace, and my plan to get the private sector into space. I had been on David’s show several times before, most notably prior to the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Apollo 11 lunar landing. David
loved to introduce me as the first guy named Buzz to walk on the moon. His rapier wit was always only a second away, but he really did get it whenever I began describing space tourism, putting up clusters of modules as space hotels, and launching tourists on spacelines carrying as many as eighty to one hundred people at a time to an orbiting hotel for week-long vacations.

David wanted to know what the tourists would do all that time.

“They’ll float around, and enjoy zero gravity just like John [Glenn] is doing now,” I told him.

“Will there be games and activities?”

“Yeah, yeah!” I said. “We’re going to play checkers.”

For all of his joking, David understood the vision for space tourism, and I appreciated having the opportunity to share my ideas about it with his audience. On other occasions when I’ve been on David’s program, I have done some rather quirky things myself. For instance, once in response to a letter from a viewer, David had me “live” in a New York City cab “about thirty-three inches above the big blue marble we call Earth,” doing important “space experiments” such as dropping my astronaut’s pen, which dropped like a rock, of course. “This is America’s finest hour,” I said. On another show, I was on top of the studio roof of the Ed Sullivan Theater building, dressed in full spacesuit regalia, in the pouring rain. As another of David’s ridiculous experiments, I was to hit a golf ball off the roof, to supposedly determine the gravitational pull of the roof. The golf ball was teed up on a mat, and I could barely swing the golf club in the bulky spacesuit, but I hit it with a good stroke and the ball sailed off the roof. “It’s so serene, so tranquil, looking down on the Earth from the roof,” I said. Of course, as usual, my tag line was “This truly is America’s finest hour!”

On another of David’s shows, I participated by reading his “Top Ten List.” The topic was “The Top Ten Other Things to Say When Stepping on the Moon.” Dressed in a bright orange “NASA” jumpsuit, I deadpanned lines such as, “Set your phasers for fun; the Buzzmeister has landed!”

David said on one show that if he was running NASA, wed have a shopping mall on Neptune by now. I wouldn’t doubt it a bit.

Over the years, I have appeared on numerous news interview shows, but I’ve especially enjoyed the lighter moments playing off the space themes, such as on
The Tonight Show with Jay Leno.
Working with Jay was great fun, as well. We both wore brown trench coats,
Casablanca
style, and Jay drew comparisons between life on the moon and life in Hollywood, where the real space exists.

While promoting
Encounter with Tiber
, I appeared on Rosie O’Donnell’s talk show during the week of Elton John’s birthday, so, as a special tribute, Rosie was having all of her guests sing one of their favorite songs by the prolific pop artist. Mine, of course, was “Rocket Man.” In my estimation, there was no better Elton John song, and who better to sing it but me? I didn’t even pretend to try to sing it seriously. I stood on stage with a deadpan expression and droned, “I’m just a rocket man, and I think its going to be a long, long time …” The audience laughed uproariously.

I also did an “interview” with Ali G, alter ego of Sacha Baron Cohen, star of the movie
Borat.
For our interview, Cohen played his Ali G hip-hop journalist character to the hilt, with a British gangster street accent, dressed in a yellow jumpsuit, and adorned in heavy gold jewelry and a black skull cap. His shtick was to go around to distinguished people under the pretense that they were giving serious interviews. In fact, when he came to my home, we were expecting British Channel Four to show up. Instead, Ali G walked in, and commenced his litany of nonsensical questions. He asked me, “What was it like not being the first man on the moon? Was you ever jealous of Louis Armstrong?” The funny thing about Cohen’s zaniness was that many people he interviewed would get upset and storm out, but when he did the bit with me, I caught on rather quickly and had a great time with him, playing it straight.

I love humor, so maybe that’s why when an invitation came to “appear” as myself in an episode of
The Simpsons
, I couldn’t resist. The episode was called “Deep Space Homer,” in which Homer went into
space with me. I had warned Homer about the effects of weightlessness, and in typical
Simpsons
style, he flubbed up. Homer and I were in the capsule and we were listening to James Taylor’s song, “You’ve Got a Friend,” when Homer opened up some potato chips.

“No, Homer,” I cried. “They’re ruffled!”

I had a ball doing the show, and to this day, it is one of the most popular episodes of
The Simpsons
ever aired.

Of course, with all this publicity and commercial effort, I opened myself to a great deal of criticism by my detractors, including a number of my fellow astronauts. Their big gripe was that I was drawing too much attention to myself. Their criticism hurt, but I took it in stride. The truth was, no other astronaut, active or inactive, was out in public trying to raise awareness about America’s dying space program. None of them. They were all content to sit back on their laurels, while the Russians, Chinese, and just about anyone else surged ahead of us in space. All the while, we had the technology and the wherewithal to keep space exploration alive; the question was whether we had the will.

Beyond that, what my critics never acknowledged was that what I was selling was not myself. I was selling the future of spaceflight— hoping to pave the way for ordinary citizens to explore space, for financiers to see the viability and the profitability of permanently orbiting space hotels and “sightseeing” trips to the moon and other destinations in space. NASA was not paying me to promote the space program, nor was anyone else. Fortunately, my commercial ventures made it possible for me to work on space promotions free of charge.

One of the more interesting and enjoyable of those commercial ventures came to me as a surprise.

   18

F
OR SEVERAL YEARS
, L
OIS AND
I
HAD BEEN SPENDING A LOT
of time driving up to L.A. on business and to attend a variety of Hollywood events in the evenings. To avoid having to drive back the sixty miles to Laguna at night, we sold my old home at Table Rock and used the money to buy a small apartment in Beverly Hills that we could use as a pied-à-terre. Eventually we sold that apartment, as well as our home in Emerald Bay, and bought a luxury high-rise condo along the Wilshire Corridor of Los Angeles, just west of Beverly Hills, because so much of our business was now connected to the entertainment industry. It was a good move for us, making it much easier to meet with agents and publicists, and to participate more readily in Hollywood’s celebrity events. From my perspective, I liked the high security, and there was no yard work; also, we have a beautiful panoramic view stretching from downtown Los Angeles to the Palos Verdes Peninsula and the Pacific Ocean.

A little-known Hollywood fact is that my name had already been firmly ensconced in Hollywood lore long before Lois and I moved there. On the famous Hollywood Walk of Fame, at the corners of Hollywood and Vine, Neil Armstrong, Michael Collins, and I have not one star but four, one on each corner of the intersection. Actually, our “stars” are in the shape of moons. Other celebrity stars lining the popular
stretch of sidewalk include the very first person awarded a star on the street, Joanne Woodward, wife of the late Paul Newman. Cary Grant, Audrey Hepburn, Gene Autry, Clark Gable, and even Rin Tin Tin and Lassie have stars embedded in the sidewalk on this famous street. But Neil, Mike, and I are the only ones with four “stars,” Hollywood’s tribute to the first lunar landing.

Lois and I loved being in Los Angeles, if for no other reason than that we could better keep up with all the entertainment news. When the animated Disney movie
Toy Story
was released featuring a character named Buzz Lightyear, I naturally noticed the play on my name. I called Howard Green, a vice president at Disney, and Howard invited me to come up to Burbank and meet Tim Allen, who had done the voice for Buzz Lightyear.

We took some pictures with Tim, as well as with Tom Hanks, who provided the voice for Woody, the “star” of the movie. But when the studio wanted me to pose with a Buzz Lightyear action figure, I thought they were taking advantage of my willingness. “Maybe my representative should talk with your representatives before you use these pictures,” I suggested.

Disney didn’t pay me a penny for associating my name with the Buzz Lightyear character, but I’ve had a good relationship with the Disney organization over the years, and we’ve had a lot of fun together. And of course, Buzz’s motto—“To infinity and beyond!”—is one that I could heartily endorse, albeit tongue-in-cheek.

I got to the place where I started referring to the Buzz Lightyear character as my cousin, and people loved it. Often, when I am in the middle of a speaking engagement, I will draw a twelve-inch-high Buzz Lightyear action figure out from behind the podium, and no matter how erudite, scientific, intellectual, or academic the audience, Buzz always gets a good response. It also creates a moment when I can talk about inspiring the next generation of children to explore space.

When Disney managed to secure a spot on the space shuttle
Discovery
for Buzz Lightyear to actually travel to the International Space Station in 2008, it was big news. We did an “instructional” video piece,
to be disseminated on YouTube, in which I coached Buzz Lightyear on some of the finer points of space travel. “I know where you are going,” I told Buzz. “I’ve been in space two times. I’ve walked on the moon. Before we can let you go into space, you have to pass a battery of tests. Are you ready?”

We then put Buzz through his tests: the antigravity test, in which we plunged Buzz into a home aquarium filled with water and live fish; the fitness test, in which I put Buzz on a treadmill and turned it on, which sent him tumbling across the room; the centrifuge test, in which I put Buzz in the clothes dryer along with a load of clothes and turned it on. Poor Buzz was sent tumbling again. For the crash-landing test, we hung Buzz from a tree by his parachute cords; and for the rocket test, we attached a firecracker to Buzz’s life support pack and blasted him to infinity and beyond. After all these tests, I held the Buzz Lightyear action figure close to my face and said, “Congratulations! You are cleared for launch.” Then, in a grandfatherly tone, I looked at Buzz and said, “Just remember one thing: I’m the real Buzz.” We had great fun doing the video, and when Buzz Lightyear actually flew on the
Discovery
, a live “Woody” character was at Cape Kennedy to see him off, along with hundreds of Buzz Lightyear fans.

Buzz’s journey was part of NASA’s “Toys in Space” initiative. The program was designed to encourage students to pursue studies in science and mathematics, subjects that are vitally important in sustaining U.S. economic competitiveness and technological leadership. Buzz stayed in space at the International Space Station for several months before returning to a hero’s welcome and, of course, a new “Toy Story Mania!” attraction at the Disney theme parks.

I’ve enjoyed working with Disney to inspire older kids and adults to think more about space as well. When Disney opened its “Mission Space” attraction at Epcot Center in Florida, then-CEO Michael Eisner invited me to test it out for accuracy and authenticity. The attraction launches visitors into a simulated space adventure, complete with a pulse-pounding liftoff followed by the sensation of weightlessness in outer space. After testing the ride, I was quite impressed. I told
Michael, “This is the closest thing to spaceflight that most people will ever experience. When those rockets ignite for liftoff, you feel an increase in g force, just like the real thing.” Of course, through Share-Space, I hope to allow people to actually experience the real thing in the near future.

I’ll take almost any opportunity to share space with the next generation. I’ve written two children’s books,
Reaching for the Moon
and
Look to the Stars
, and have spoken in schools all over America, but I’ve discovered that I can also be effective, and often reach many more children, by working through television. That’s why I was excited when the producers of
Sesame Street
called me to appear on the show with the Muppets, the lovable puppet characters originally created by the late Jim Henson. I had a great time working with the Muppets, although I hated disappointing Cookie Monster when he asked me if the moon was really one big cookie.

“My name is Buzz Aldrin,” I told him, “and I’m an astronaut.”

“Astro Not?” Cookie asked.

“That’s my job. I explore space.”

Cookie Monster was intrigued. “You got to tell me truth. Is moon a big, yummy cookie?”

“I’m afraid not, Cookie Monster,” I consoled him, “but if you ever got there, you would still love it. The stars all around are even brighter than they are here.”

Indeed, I have worked with many television programs and have even appeared in a few movies over the years. As early as 1976, I appeared in the made-for-television movie,
The Boy in the Plastic Bubble
, starring John Travolta. More recently I played myself in the first animated feature film to be produced in 3-D,
Fly Me to the Moon
, about three flies who stow away in the helmets of the Apollo 11 astronauts to make the trip to the moon. It was a very creative production, and I especially liked the way they reenacted the whole launch, staging, and rendezvous sequences of our spacecraft—a must-see for all budding astronauts.

I’ve had a few other brushes with pop-culture fame. For instance,
when the Music Television network (MTV) debuted in 1981, their network identification used a photograph of me with the American flag on the moon. In place of the stars and stripes, however, the network substituted their MTV logo. From day one, every time MTV went to their network identification, there I was, holding the MTV flag. Additionally, MTV labeled their hip new music videos as “Buzz-clips.”

When the music video genre caught on and MTV in 1984 began handing out Video Music Awards for the best video productions of the year, the award received by winners was a silver statuette in the shape of an astronaut holding a flag, originally called the “Buzzy,” named after me. Playing off of the original space-themed station ID logo, the astronaut statuette stands nearly twelve inches high, weighs more than seven pounds, and is made by R.S. Owen, Inc., the same company that makes the Oscars for the Academy Awards. Later, MTV changed the award’s name to the “Moonman,” but the statue is still modeled after my image. A few years ago I had the pleasure of getting to know Tom Freston, one of the original founders of MTV, who personally presented me with the MTV statuette, inscribed
TO THE ORIGINAL MOONMAN.

Neon-colored original “Moonwalk” screen prints were created by Andy Warhol in 1987, based on the “visor shot” photo that Neil took of me on the moon. Warhol added the American flag into his art, and made two versions in contrasting color schemes, one in neon yellow, red, and blue, and other in a deep neon pink and violet palette. If you look closely at the visor of my helmet in his prints, you can see how he inscribed his initials “AW” in abstract strokes. Lois and I are fortunate to have one of Warhol’s “Moonwalk” prints hanging in our home.

Promoting myself as a potential commercial pitchman while protecting myself against the unauthorized use of my image sometimes created a tenuous balance. One of the more awkward instances came about as a result of the wristwatch I wore on the moon. As Omega did with all the astronauts, I was given one of their Speedmaster watches as a Gemini astronaut, which I had worn during my Gemini 12 flight. I
also wore an Omega Speedmaster during the Apollo 11 mission. The watch is clearly visible in many of the pictures of me on the moon, so it could easily be assumed that my timepiece was the most famous wrist-watch in the world. It was optional to wear while we were walking on the surface of the moon. Neil chose not to wear his. And few things are less necessary when walking around on the moon than knowing what time it is in Houston, Texas. Nonetheless, being a watch guy, I decided to strap the Speedmaster onto my right wrist around the outside of my bulky spacesuit.

For years, although I did not realize it at the time, the Omega watch company used photos of me on the moon in their advertisements. They paid nothing for the use of those photos, neither to NASA nor to me. But they were certainly getting a lot of bang for their buck on that donated watch.

Later, at Omega’s invitation, Lois and I accompanied some of their company representatives to Riyadh. On the plane, I talked with one of the Omega executives about my recent discovery that Omega was using my picture in a print ad promoting Omega watches as the first watch on the moon. I suggested to the Omega representative that we should strike some sort of agreement under which we could promote their watches, and I could receive some compensation for their using my image. I had no intention of suing; I was hoping to strike up a business deal. The Omega representative surprised me. “You’ll probably have to sue us,” he said bluntly.

Upon my return, I realized that he was probably right. I hired a lawyer to send some letters, still hoping to work out a deal, but Omega wasn’t willing to budge. After a long season of lawyer runarounds, I dismissed the lawsuit, deciding it wasn’t worth pursuing any longer. At the same time, I would think that Omega had to pay something to other celebrity spokespersons for wearing Omega watches in far less conspicuous places than the moon.

Not one to harbor ill feelings, I can see two positive results that came from the Omega situation. First, thanks to my efforts to negotiate
with Omega, new standards were put in place as to how commercial companies should compensate astronauts for their photos when used in advertisements. Astronauts now benefit more fully from the “right of publicity” to control their image as shown in photos taken of them during spacewalks and moonwalks, even though their faces may not be visible behind the helmets of their spacesuits. More personally, I later struck up a venture with Bulova to create two outstanding Accutron watches—the Eagle Pilot and the limited edition Astronaut—which include features I found helpful in space, and which both have my signature engraved on their casebacks. In fact, Bulova Accutron provided the original timepiece in the
Columbia
command module for our trip to the moon, so the relationship has been a natural one.

Forty years after I stood on the moon’s surface with my Omega Speedmaster watch on my wrist, Omega made a great effort to overcome any problems we had in the past. They invited me to Basel, Switzerland, to attend a celebration of our moon landing along with some of the other Apollo astronauts at the BaselWorld watch fair. They were very gracious hosts and presented me with a beautiful new limited edition Speedmaster watch that commemorates Apollo 11. This was a welcomed gesture since my original Omega Speedmaster was stolen on the way to the Smithsonian.